


Save the Date

by Bespectacled_Geek



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bachelorette Party, Benvolio and Rosaline fight crime, Benvolio and his murder board, Benvolio's feelings, But mostly fluff, Crime Fighting, Drunk Dialing, F/F, F/M, Fake Wedding Date AU, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Murder Mystery, Oblivious Rosaline, Rosaline Capulet/Prince Escalus (past), Rosaline POV, Sharing a Bed, Weddings, copious references to Shakespeare's works, everyone can see it, everyone ships it, valentines in verona
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2019-11-07 08:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bespectacled_Geek/pseuds/Bespectacled_Geek
Summary: Rosaline Capulet runs into her ex at a coffee shop and accidentally tells him that she has date to his sister’s wedding. The only problem— the first name that pops into her head is her sarcastic partner at the Verona PD, Detective Benvolio Montague. Now she has to juggle a fake relationship on top of their murder investigation.





	1. Accidental Boyfriends and Half-Baked Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much to unwrittenmusings on Tumblr for their Valentines in Verona challenge. The prompt for this week was "Dates," so I've gone with a Fake Wedding Date AU. I had originally intended for this to be a one-shot, but apparently I'm incapable of writing one-shots and it's now six chapters long with a murder investigation subplot. Whoops. I don't know when the next chapter will be posted, as I now have three WIPs, but hopefully I'll be able to get it out soon. I hope you guys like it!

The brass bell above the door dinged as the white painted door to Ariel’s Coffee Shop swung open. Stepping inside out of the unusually brisk February wind, Rosaline stamped her boots caked with yesterday’s snow on the welcome mat and removed her gloves. The dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra issued from a tinny speaker above the counter. She breathed deeply, basking in the aroma of freshly roasting coffee. Stuffing her gloves in her pockets, Rosaline joined the small line of customers in for their daily cup of joe before their morning commute.

She glanced at the antique wood clock on the wall above the sugar and cream. 7:30. Still half an hour until she had to be at the precinct. The line shuffled forward. Resisting the temptation to fiddle with her phone, Rosaline instead peered at the coffee shop’s eclectic decor. In one corner, a couple (obviously on their first date) smiled at each other over piping hot mismatched teacups in pastel pink Victorian armchairs. Another person, a student or a writer perhaps, occupied a small table next to the roaring fire. Scattered paintings, mostly of fairies and wood sprites, covered the walls. Rosaline smiled. The Montague certainly had an odd taste in coffee shops.

“Hi, welcome to Ariel’s; what can I get for you?” The perky cashier asked, snapping Rosaline back to attention.

“Hi,” Rosaline replied, whipping out her phone. “Sorry about that,” she peered at the nametag on the cashier’s apron, “Miranda.”

“No trouble at all,” Miranda smiled. “What can I get for you?”

"Can I get a small black coffee, two bear claws, and—” Rosaline opened the message from her partner. She squinted at the exceptionally long order. “—a large double-shot no-whip caramel vanilla latte? Am I reading this correctly?” She held her phone across the counter.

Miranda blinked at the absurdly long text. “Yes.” She pulled two paper cups stamped with fairies from the stacks at her side. “Can I get a name for the order?”

“The coffee’s for Rosaline and the latte’s for Ben.” Rosaline tapped the counter.

Miranda scrawled the names in black sharpie.

"Can you also add a frowny face beside Ben's name?"

Miranda raised an eyebrow.

"I lost a bet," Rosaline explained.

Miranda obliged, setting the cups down for the barista to prepare.

“That comes out to $15.95.”

Rosaline stuck her card in the chip reader. The view screen displayed a loading screen for a few seconds before letting out an obnoxious beep. She slid the card back into her wallet and dropped it into her purse.

“Thanks, have a great day.” Miranda grinned as she handed her the receipt.

“You too.” Rosaline stuffed it into her purse full of unwanted receipts. She sidled down the counter to the pick-up sign. She whipped out her phone, typing a furious message off to her partner. Her phone pinged with Benvolio's response: "If I remember correctly, it was you who lost the bet, not me" followed by a winky face. Rosaline snorted, dropping the phone back into her pocket. The espresso machine in front of her hissed and steamed as the barista frothed some milk for Ben's latte. Rosaline studied the pattern on the tile floor while she waited. Other customers joined her in a sort of haphazard queue in front of the pick-up counter.

“Rosaline?” The barista called, placing a tray with two cups and brown paper bag on the counter.

“That’s me. Thanks.” Rosaline stepped forward. She folded the top of the bag that held their bear claws and stuck it into her purse before picking up the coffees. Grabbing a couple of napkins, she turned to leave the shop with her carefully balanced tray of caffeine.

“Rosaline, is that you?”

Rosaline froze. Her heart plummeted in her chest; she would know that voice anywhere. Wincing, she turned.

"Escalus, hi." Escalus looked as he always did, put together in a tailored suit.

“I can’t believe it’s really you; what are the odds?” He took a step toward her.

"Indeed," Rosaline said through gritted teeth.

“Look, I know we didn’t end things on a great note,” He placed a hand on her arm.

“You could say that,” Rosaline interrupted, brushing him off.

“My point is, I can’t stop thinking about you.” He took hold of her hand. “With Isabella’s wedding coming up, I thought we could maybe reconnect?” He gazed at her with those puppy dog eyes. Rosaline shook her head, snatching her hand away.

“I have a boyfriend!” Rosaline blurted out before she could stop herself. Escalus’ face fell.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t know." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I just assumed you were still single since you RSVP'd to the wedding without a date."

“We got together after I responded to Isabella’s invitation.” Rosaline grimaced; the light at the top of the hole she had dug herself into drew dimmer with every word.

"I'm sure Isabella would be happy to add him to the guest list if you asked."

Rosaline rocked back and forth on her heels. “Right. I’m not sure weddings are his thing . . .”

“Who doesn’t like going to weddings?”

Rosaline’s gaze darted toward the coffee in her hands, the frowny face next to Benvolio’s face winking at her.

“I’m sorry; did you just say your boyfriend is Benvolio Montague?”

Rosaline’s mind went blank as she realized that she had said his name out loud. Rosaline coughed awkwardly.

“Yep," she squeaked. "Benvolio's definitely my boyfriend." Rosaline abandoned her shovel for an excavator. The light at the top was almost nonexistent.

Escalus giggled.

“Wait a minute,” he chortled. “You’re dating the Montague?” His whole body shook with laughter. Escalus struggled to get his words out between chuckles“You hate him. You’d come home from work ranting about whatever stupid thing he did that day. You said, and I quote, that Benvolio was ‘a lazy ass smart aleck who only got the job because his uncle’s the police commissioner’.”

“I was wrong.” Rosaline sniffed, suddenly defensive about her fake boyfriend. “Turns out he’s not so bad. He’s actually a pretty good detective; we work well together.” She smiled.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Escalus laughed again. “At least ask him to come to the wedding. I want to see this trainwreck with my own eyes.”

“Fine,” Rosaline rolled her eyes. She checked the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to get going; I’ll see you at the rehearsal dinner?” Escalus nodded. Rosaline darted out the door, coffees in hand.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered to herself as she crossed the street to the precinct. The face on Benvolio's cup frowned up at her in judgment. "I can't believe I did that." She breezed through the front door, jostling with the crowd into the elevator. She tapped her foot as the elevator rose. Finally, the elevator pinged before the doors opened to the third-floor bullpen.

The bullpen already bustled with activity. Rosaline hoped Benvolio had chosen today to run late, but no such luck. He stared at something on his computer screen, the sleeves of his lavender button-up rolled up the elbows. Clutching the coffees in one hand, she pushed past the blue gate and shuffled through the maze of desks.

“Ah, Capulet, come with my prize,” Benvolio smirked at her approach. He jumped from his chair.

"Good morning, Montague," she replied, with less cordiality than usual. Rosaline handed him his cup before collapsing into her rolling chair.

“I believe you owe me a bear claw as well.”

Rosaline snatched the paper bag from her purse and chucked one of the bear claws at him. Her sister Livia and her cousin Juliet radiated disapproval from the photo on her desk.

Benvolio sipped his espresso monstrosity.“Something’s got your knickers in a twist, and I’m pretty sure it’s not my coffee order. Care to share?”

“I’m not in the mood.” Rosaline sent him a glare that would have withered even the most stalwart of plants.

“If something’s really bothering you, it’ll help to talk about it.” He hopped onto his desk, savoring on his latte.

“If you must know, I ran into my ex at the coffee shop.” Rosaline groaned.

“The politician?” Benvolio put his cup down on the desk, crossing his toned arms over his grey vest. Rosaline cursed the day he started wearing three-piece suits to work, although the leather jackets he used to wear made him look fantastic too. Benvolio could wear a paper bag and still look great.

Rosaline roused herself from the unwanted thoughts, nodding in response to his question. “He wanted to reconnect at his sister’s wedding.”

Benvolio scowled. “I hope you told that prick to stuff it.”

Rosaline gulped her black coffee, scalding her tongue.

“Tell me you didn’t agree to hear him out.”

“It’s worse.” She put the coffee cup back on the table. “I told him I have a boyfriend.” Rosaline slumped over her desk.

“But you don’t have a boyfriend.” Benvolio’s eyebrows drew together in confusion.

“Exactly.”

“You’ve got to find a fake boyfriend before the wedding? I do not envy you that task.” Benvolio chuckled, jumping off the desk. He dropped back into his rolling chair.

“Not quite.”

“I’m intrigued. Pray tell me more.” Benvolio crumpled up a piece of paper, twisting in his chair to make the perfect shot.

“I kind of accidentally told him I was dating you?” The paper glanced off the rim of the wastepaper basket.

“I’m sorry, what?” Benvolio leaned over his desk.

“You heard me.” Rosaline slumped, banging her head on the desk. “I said I was dating you, Benvolio.”

Benvolio remained silent for a beat before bursting into peals of raucous laughter.

“Go on, laugh at my misery,” Rosaline grumbled as she sat back up.

“Capulet, I had no idea you felt that way about me.” He wiped a tear from his eye.

“Don’t be flattered,” Rosaline rolled her eyes. “I accidentally said your name when I looked at your coffee cup, so Escalus just assumed that you were my boyfriend.”

“Whatever you say,” he winked, sorting through the paperwork on his desk. “What are you going to do about the wedding?”

“I guess I’ll just tell everyone that you caught the stomach flu. That’s believable right?” She stared at Isabella’s contact on her phone.

“It is if you want your ex to follow you all night.”

Rosaline put her phone down.

“Capulet, Montague!” Captain Laurence poked his head out of his office. Rosaline straightened herself in her chair. “My office, now.” Rosaline frowned, following Benvolio into the captain’s office. Captain Laurence took a seat behind his desk.

“You know the vandalism that’s plagued the city all winter?”

Rosaline and Benvolio nodded.

“It’s escalated to murder, so Vice has turned the case over to us. You two are my best detectives; you handled the MacDuff murders well, even if MacDuff killed the bastard before you guys could arrest him.” Rosaline swelled with pride. “I’m counting on you two to solve this quickly so the city can get back to normal. Grab a couple of uniforms and get down to the corner of 57th and Bohemia."

“Yes, sir,” Rosaline and Benvolio answered in unison. Rosaline walked out of the office.

“Guess we’ll have to table that discussion,” Benvolio said, grabbing his blazer from the back of his chair. “Duty calls.” The muscles in his forearms rippled as he stuck one arm in the sleeve of his jacket. Why did such a cocky man have to be so beautiful? She adjusted the sleeves on her own blazer, making sure the lines were tight.

“Let’s roll,” She downed one more swig of coffee before striding out of the bullpen with Benvolio in close pursuit.

* * *

Rosaline ducked under the crime scene tape, flashing her badge to the uniformed officer guarding the scene. Benvolio followed quickly behind her. He had been uncharacteristically quiet on the short drive over. Rosaline couldn’t quite decide if that was a curse or a blessing. Maybe if she ignored him, he’d forget all about her admission.

C.S.I. Techs busied themselves around the scene, dusting for prints and searching for any fibers or blood spatters that could be useful. A number of little yellow evidence numbers already lined the sidewalk around the body. Directly behind it, someone had scrawled “DEATH TO THE CAPULETS” in big red letters. The paint dripped down the stone wall of the building like blood.

“That’s pleasant,” Benvolio commented. “Never fear, dear Capulet, for I shall protect you.” Rosaline rolled her eyes as she pulled out her notebook.

“What have we got?” Rosaline approached the medical examiner. Benvolio snapped on a pair of pale blue police issue crime scene gloves.

“Male victim, early 20s, no i.d.,” the examiner replied. He pointed to the victim's chest. Blood seeped through shirt radiating from a three-inch long cut. “Death caused by blood loss following a deep stab wound. This might sound crazy, but I think he was killed by a sword.”

“A sword?” Benvolio crouched next to the body. “That’s peculiar.” He pulled the shirt back to look at the wound.

"Indeed. And get this," the examiner gestured to a slight orange discoloration ringing the wound, "the rust on the wound suggests this sword is an antique, not properly cared for."

“What are these markings on either side?” Rosaline asked, pointing with her pen to bruises on his chest.

"The murderer pushed his blade all the way in, up to the hilt. These oddly-shaped bruises must have been caused by the hilt impacting on the flesh."

“Interesting,” Rosaline remarked. “Let us know if you find anything else suspicious or specific in the autopsy. Any insight on the type of blade would be appreciated.”

“Will do,” the medical examiner turned back to the corpse. Rosaline walked back to the brick wall. Benvolio rose from the sidewalk to take his place at her shoulder.

“What are you thinking?” Benvolio asked her as she examined the graffiti.

Rosaline tapped her pen against her chin. “Gang violence—probably a Montague perp; sorry.”

“I’m not so sure,” Benvolio responded. “Last week we had that colorful message threatening violence against my family. We’ll have to take notes of all the incidents in conjunction with this homicide—it could be this man was in the wrong place in the wrong time, or he could have been selected on purpose. Maybe someone is trying to stir up the old rivalry for personal gain. This graffiti could all be a smokescreen for a bigger plan.”

“You could be right.” Rosaline scanned the periphery of the crime scene. A splash of red peeked out from behind some crates stacked next to the wall. “Help me move these crates.” Working together, they each took a side of the wooden box. The box moved with little effort on their parts. When they removed the second crate, an open can of red paint and a crimson boot print came into view.

“Good eye, Capulet. Can I get CSI over here?” Benvolio called to the techs. Two rushed over, one with a camera. Rosaline and Benvolio stepped back to let them do their work.

“About earlier,” Rosaline began as they surveyed the techs, “I’m sorry for involving you in my personal drama. I’ll just tell everyone you couldn’t make it.”

“Oh no, you don’t get to just back out of this. I’m going with you.” Benvolio stated in a blasé tone. Rosaline raised a quizzical brow. “It could be fun.”

“You want to go with me to my ex’s sister’s wedding . . . As my fake boyfriend. For fun?”

“Escalus made it quite clear when you guys were dating that he does not think very highly of me. It’ll be amusing to watch him stew in a quiet rage over how happy you are without him.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “Just imagine it. Steam will pour out of his ears.”

“Do you really think people would believe us?” Rosaline crossed her arms. “We don’t exactly scream couple-of-the-year material.”

“Not a problem; we just go on a couple of practice dates before the wedding and bam—fake boyfriend ready to go.”

Rosaline narrowed her eyes. “You’d be giving up a weekend . . . What do you want in payment?”

“Nothing much,” Benvolio grinned. “You buy my coffee for a month.”

“Fine.” Rosaline groaned. Benvolio held out a hand for her to shake. “But there’s no deal if Isabella says no. I’ve got to ask her if there’s still room for my ‘boyfriend’ first.”

Benvolio nodded. “Of course.”

The _Star Trek_ theme song blared from her jacket pocket, interrupting their conversation. Rosaline whipped her cell phone out. Isabella’s face flashed across the screen.

“Speak of the devil,” Benvolio laughed. Rosaline glared at him before answering the phone.

“Hello, Isabella.”

“Rosaline!” Isabella shouted from the other line. Rosaline flinched. “I cannot believe you got yourself a boyfriend and you neglected to tell me, your best friend.”

"I see you've spoken to Escalus," Rosaline remarked.

“Yes,” Isabella answered.

Rosaline started to pace back and forth, fiddling with one of the loose curls that framed her face. “I’m sorry I didn't tell you right away, but it’s all so new.”

“Apology accepted—” Rosaline breathed a sigh of relief, “—if you bring Benvolio to the wedding.” She can practically see Isabella grinning through her phone. “In all honesty, Ros, I’m not surprised at all.”

“What’s she saying?” Benvolio mouthed to her. Rosaline glared at him before whipping around.

“Don’t tell my brother, but I think you and Benvolio are a much better match than you two ever were.” Rosaline stopped pacing. She crossed her free arm over her chest.

“Really?” Rosaline failed to hide her surprised tone. Benvolio inched closer, leaning over her shoulder. Swatting his arm, she shooed him away.

“You talked about him all the time.” Rosaline switched the phone to her other side. “Even I could see the sexual tension between you two when I ran into you guys at Leonato’s. It was inevitable. Now I won’t keep you any later; I’ll see you and Benvolio at the wedding. Bye!”

“Bye, Isabella.” The phone clicked off. She stared at the lock screen, blinking.

“Well?”

“Isabella wants you to come to the wedding.” Rosaline looked up from her phone, eyes wide. “Guess we’re officially in this together now, Montague.”


	2. The Plot Thickens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosaline and Benvolio dig deeper into the mystery surrounding their first victim; another victim is discovered--this time with a witness to the murder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> After taking a break to finish another fic, I’m back, and boy am I excited because I’ve got some deliciously tropey chapters planned. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first chapter; they truly mean the world to me. And of course, thanks again to unwrittenmusings on tumblr for the original prompt.

The next day, Rosaline walked up the stairs to the precinct, cradling a tray of coffees on her arm.

“Capulet,” Benvolio greeted her as he intercepted her on the stairs. “Might as well turn around. Yorick’s got something he wants to talk about at the morgue.”

“I just got here,” Rosaline groaned, her shoulders sagging.

Benvolio lifted the coffee tray from her arms. “I’ll take that for you.”

“Thanks.” Rosaline followed her partner back down the stairs toward the parking garage, weaving through a few milling officers waiting to clock in.

“After you, my lady,” he grinned as he opened the door to level B. Rosaline rolled her eyes, but gave him a gracious nod while she passed. As she headed toward their police-issue undercover Crown Victoria, her sensible heels clicked on the concrete floor. Benvolio whipped the keys from his pocket, clicking the button as he approached the vehicle. The lights flashed twice.

"I hope it's good, whatever he's got." Rosaline slid into the passenger seat, dumping her bag on the floor. Taking the coffee tray back from Benvolio, she carefully placed each cup into their respective cupholders. The radio crackled to life when Benvolio turned the ignition. The engine rumbled for a moment and then purred after Benvolio smacked the dashboard.

"This car always gives me trouble," Benvolio remarked. He switched gears to pull the car out of the garage.

“In other news,” the radio broadcaster said as Rosaline buckled her seatbelt, “several incidents of vandalism that have now escalated to murder have shaken the city to its core.” Rosaline took a sip of her bitter coffee, just the way she liked it. “At a press conference earlier today, Mayor Escalus Prince assured worried citizens that the city was doing everything in its power to catch the perpetrators.”

Escalus’ commanding voice spoke through the radio speakers, "Citizens of Verona, the police commissioner assures me that Verona's finest detectives are on the case." Rosaline shrank into the leather car seat, quietly sipping her coffee. "In fact—" Benvolio turned the tuning knob on the dashboard. The radio crackled before switching to a classical station.

“Sorry about that,” Benvolio said.

“It’s fine,” Rosaline answered, staring out the window. An uncomfortable silence accompanied by Tchaikovsky’s “Love Theme” descended upon them for the rest of the short ride to the Medical Examiner’s office. Benvolio pulled into the parking spot like a practiced professional, braking just before the tires could hit the curb.

“I’m impressed,” Rosaline commented. “That’s certainly a step-up from the way you used to drive.”

“Thanks,” Benvolio smirked, his bright green eyes sparkling with mirth the way they had when he’d suggested his ludicrous plan yesterday. “I’ve been practicing. Shall we go see what the good doctor has to tell us?”

Rosaline swallowed, remembering that she’d agreed to that same absurd plan and all that entailed.

“We shall,” she answered.

Rosaline walked into the building with Benvolio trailing behind her. After a short ride in the elevator with the most boring and generic elevator music imaginable, they walked through the corridor that led to the morgue. Rosaline stepped down the stairs into the empty room.

"Dr. Yorick?" she called. A faint noise came from the doctor's office in the back corner of the room. She sidled past the metal examination tables, some of which were covered in bodies, to the door of Yorick’s office. She rapped twice on the door before entering.

Dr. Yorick leaned on his desk, intent on the video playing on his computer screen. In the video, a handsome man stood behind a podium covered in microphones from all of Verona’s major news outlets in front of city hall. The wind whipped against his perfectly coiffed hair.

“This dreadful violence in our city has to stop. Mayor Prince has done nothing to prevent it.” The man slammed his fist against the podium. “His leadership in this time of crisis has failed to inspire confidence. That’s why I’m announcing my candidacy for—” Dr. Yorick paused the video, standing to greet them.

“Capulet, Montague,” he laughed. “Never let it be said that you’re not punctual.”

“You said you had something new for us on the phone?” Benvolio asked, appearing beside Rosaline.

“I do indeed,” Dr. Yorick slapped Benvolio on the shoulder. “Follow me.”

He led them to the body covered by a white sheet on the center examination table. Slapping on some powder-blue latex gloves, Dr. Yorick pulled back the sheet.

“On closer examination, I think I was able to determine the kind of sword used in this attack.”

Tapped his finger on his chin. Rosaline turned her attention back to the corpse.

“Based on the angle of attack, size of the wound, and the shape of the bruise,” Dr. Yorick pointed to the purple and black ring around the puncture, "I believe a rapier was the murder weapon. If you look closely," he used a laser to highlight the slightly darker discolorations that crisscrossed the bruise, "these bruises resemble the delicate filigree work on fine Veronese rapiers from the 18th century.”

Rosaline leaned in to get a better look.

“Do you mind if I take a picture?” Benvolio asked. “This pattern might help in identifying the murder weapon.”

“Take as many as you like.” Dr. Yorick stepped back so Benvolio could get a better shot.

As Benvolio photographed the bruise with his phone, Rosaline asked, “What about the rust? Were you able to determine anything from that?”

Dr. Yorick flipped through his notes before he found the right page. "Spectroscopy shows that this iron oxide formed in an area with a high salt content, perhaps adjacent to the ocean."

“So we’re looking for an 18th-century rapier that was kept near the ocean?" Rosaline thought aloud, hands on her hips. “That’s not a lot to go on. Any clues on his identity?”

"Fingerprints were a bust, and we're still waiting on dental records. I'm sorry I can't be of more help," Dr. Yorick said. "You might try the Verona Art Museum; I hear they have a fantastic collection of antique weapons."

“We’ll check it out,” Benvolio answered. “Come on, Capulet.”

“Thanks for your help,” Rosaline waved goodbye to the pathologist before she jogged up the stairs into the main hallway. She pushed the button for the elevator as Benvolio came up behind her, so close that she could feel his breath on her shoulder. They waited in silence for the elevator to arrive.

“What color is your dress?” Benvolio asked out of the blue.

“What?” Rosaline answered.

“Your dress for the wedding—don’t we have to match or something?”

Rosaline blinked. "It's teal, but since I'm a bridesmaid, I don't know if you have to match all that much." The elevator doors opened.

“Yes, but I’m the new boyfriend trying to make a good impression,” he said in her ear before stepping into the elevator.

“I suppose you can get a teal pocket handkerchief.”

Rosaline’s phone vibrated. “Hold that thought.” She pulled the phone out of her pocket. “Another body dropped that might be connected to our John Doe. The captain wants us to head over.”

"There's never a dull moment in our fair city, Capulet." He clapped her on the shoulder. "Hopefully, this new scene can shed some light on the situation." As soon as the elevator doors dinged open, he headed out the front door toward the parking lot.

“Never a dull moment, indeed,” Rosaline muttered, before following suit.

* * *

The sky had opened up by the time they reached the new crime scene. Rain pelted on the windows of their Crown Victoria, splattering in large drops before the wipers pushed the water aside.

“That’s just great,” Rosaline grouched as they pulled up to the crime scene.

“Cheer up, Capulet,” Benvolio chided her. “At least the techs got a tent up before the torrential downpour started.” Thunder clapped overhead.

“Let’s go.” Rosaline opened the car door. The rain fell in sheets; a few stray drops landed on her shoe. Turning up the collar of her coat, she prepared to exit the vehicle when Benvolio stopped her.

“Wait.” He opened his black umbrella and hurried to the other side of the car.

He held the umbrella just over the door. “Capulet.”

“My hero.” Rosaline rolled her eyes and rose from her seat, shutting the door behind her. They darted across the road to the white tent under the overpass, walking as fast as the umbrella would allow. Another clap of thunder rolled through the air when they passed underneath the canopy. Benvolio shook out his umbrella before tossing it to the floor with a collection of other assorted umbrellas of all shapes and sizes.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Benvolio remarked as they approached Dr. Yorick for the second time that day.

“Hello again to you too, Detective Montague,” Dr. Yorick snarked without looking up. He knelt down beside the body.

“What’s the story on this one?” Rosaline asked, peering over his shoulder.

“Hard to say exactly, since I just got here—”

Benvolio rolled his eyes.

“—but I’ve noticed a similar sword wound on the chest. However, that’s not the cause of death.” He pointed to the bullet wound in the man’s forehead. “This man was shot point blank, execution style. Looks to be 9mm but I’ll have to examine it more closely.”

Benvolio blanched when he saw the corpse’s face.

“Are you alright?” Rosaline asked him.

Benvolio gulped. “I know him.” He nodded toward the body. “He went to high school with my cousin Romeo. His name’s Truccio.”

“Oh.” She placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Do you need a moment?”

Benvolio shook his head. “I’m fine. Let’s just concentrate on solving this.” He walked up to the graffiti on the bridge support. Blue paint, barely dry, dripped onto the concrete from the new message.

“Montague scum,” Benvolio commented, voice dripping with sarcasm. “How original. And it’s in Capulet blue.”

Rosaline put her hands on her hips. “These two murders certainly seem typical of the violence between the families.”

“No, it has to be someone else.” Benvolio tapped his chin with his pen. "Our uncles agreed to keep the peace after Romeo and Juliet announced their engagement." He laughed. "Do you ever think about how bizarre it is that the two of us, niece and nephew to the most powerful mob bosses in the city, ended up working together as police detectives?"

Rosaline giggled. “It is a bit ridiculous.”

“Excuse me, detectives,” a uniformed officer interrupted their banter, “but there’s a boy here who wants to talk to you. He says he saw everything.”

“A witness?” Rosaline exclaimed. “That’s fantastic.”

“Maybe he can shed some light on this situation,” Benvolio remarked.

They followed the officer to a corner of the tent where a shivering teenaged boy sat in a folding chair, clutching a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“Hi,” Benvolio reached out a hand to the boy, who shook it weakly. “I’m Detective Montague, and this is my partner, Detective Capulet. We’re in charge of this investigation. Orlando tells us you saw it go down?”

“Yeah,” the boy sniffled, pulling the scratchy wool blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” Rosaline asked.

“Robin,” he answered. “Robin Goodfellow.”

“Robin, can you tell us what happened here?”

Rosaline scribbled down notes in her notebook as Robin spoke.

“I like to skate around here; it’s good ground for practicing tricks if I can’t make it to the skatepark.” Robin pointed to the building around the corner from the overpass. “I was riding on Athens Street when I heard a scuffle. Someone shouted, ‘What are you doing?' I rounded the corner, and I saw a man in black running him," he nodded toward the body, "through with a sword. I'm not sure what kind, though; it was dark from storm clouds. The man said, ‘I did everything you asked me to,' and the man in black pulled a gun from his belt and shot him point blank." Robin shuddered.

“Did you get a look at the perpetrator’s face?” Benvolio inquired.

“No,” Robin admitted. “He wore a dark cloak and mask that obscured his face.”

“Thanks for your help,” Rosaline said, snapping her notebook shut. “Let us know if you remember anything else.” She passed him her business card.

“A masked man?” Benvolio observed as soon as the kid was out of sight. They walked back to the car to retrieve their lukewarm coffees. “Good to know we’re dealing with a murderer who takes precautions instead of a run-of-the-mill murderer.”

“Knock it off,” Rosaline smacked him on the arm with her notebook. “There’s been a very serious crime here.”

“You’re right.”

"I think our best plan of action, after canvassing for additional witnesses, of course, would be to look into Truccio's life and figure out what got him killed because, from Robin's statement, it seems like he knew his murderer. We can also see when the curator of the art museum is free to meet.”

"As usual, great minds think alike. I'll get one side of the block, and you get the other?"

“Perfect,” Rosaline grinned. “Meet you back here in a couple of hours.”

“Wait,” Benvolio grabbed her arm before she could walk away. “When are you free?”

“For what?”

“A date, of course.”

Rosaline choked on her coffee.

“You want this relationship to be believable, right?”

Rosaline cleared her throat. “Saturday morning is good.”

“Saturday it is,” Benvolio smirked. “Wear something comfortable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked this chapter. If you've got the time, please let me know what you thought; I'd love to hear from you. 
> 
> Also please hit me up on tumblr if you'd like to talk more; I'm longclawislightbringer.


	3. Murder Weapons and Practice Dates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosaline and Benvolio visit the Verona Art Museum to learn more about the murder weapon; Benvolio takes Rosaline on a practice date with some interesting developments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting schedule? What posting schedule?
> 
> In all honesty, I had hoped to keep to a posting schedule for this one, but since I'm working on so many WIPs at once the schedule got thrown to the wayside. Whoops. Expect a chapter about once a month? I actually finished the first draft of this chapter back in February, and then I decided it needed more stuff so here we are 4,000 words later. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like it! Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and favorited, and of course to unwrittenmusings on Tumblr for the original prompt.

The quiet click of keyboards tapping and the scritch-scratch of pen on paperwork filled the bullpen. Detectives and uniformed officers crowded the aisles between the desks as they went about their daily business. Rosaline leaned back in her swivel chair, stretching as she yawned. Across their workspaces, Benvolio glared at his paperwork, his brow furrowed in concentration. Rosaline leaned forward again, pulling her chair up to the table. As she flipped through the pages of the CSI report, she found herself unwillingly drawn to Benvolio’s sharp visage.

Rosaline tapped her favorite pen, a special order Pilot G2 07 with a case of her own design, against her chin while she traced the line from his brow down to his chiseled jawline. Cursing the good genes that carved him from marble, she stuck the tip of her pen in her mouth to bite on.

Without glancing up from his paperwork, Benvolio rolled up the sleeves of his crisp blue shirt, the one he wore every Tuesday that matched his eyes (not that Rosaline paid attention to trivial details like that.) Rosaline almost forgot to breathe as she bit down on the button at the top of her pen; it really was unfair the effect his sartorial choices had on her. How God could gift such a handsome face to one of the most annoying people on this planet was beyond her.

Benvolio sighed, running a hand through his unruly yet somehow perfect hair. Returning his attention to the almost empty murder board across from their desks, he crossed his arms and leaned dangerously back in his chair as he bit his lip in consternation.

Rosaline snapped the top of her pen clean off.

Benvolio whirled around, dropping his feet back to the floor. A sly smirk stretched across her lips.

“Like what you see, Capulet?” He leaned across his desk, his head over his tented hands.

Heat flooded through Rosaline. Flustered, she yanked the broken pen from her mouth.

“In your dreams, Montague,” Rosaline faltered. “That was my favorite pen.”

His smile spread even wider.

“Capulet! Montague!” Captain Laurence bellowed as he peered out of his office door into the cramped bullpen.

"Yes, sir," Rosaline responded, swiveling her chair far too fast; her trash can clattered to the ground, and the CSI report fell off her desk. Plucking them from the ground, she dropped the unsorted papers on her desk without ceremony and kicked the trash can upright before righting herself. Benvolio jumped from his seat, coming around to Rosaline's side.

Captain Laurence narrowed his eyes at the pair. “You two have been acting weirder than normal lately. Is there anything of a . . . personal nature I need to know about?”

“Nope,” Rosaline answered, perhaps too fast since the Captain narrowed his eyes even further. “It’s all fine here.”

“Everything is peachy keen,” Benvolio agreed, leaning against Rosaline’s desk. His stupid new cologne smelled like sandalwood. “Is there anything else you wanted?”

“The Verona Arts Museum just called.” Captain Laurence informed them, glancing at his watch. “You can head over there now to talk to the curator. Ask for Beatrice.”

“Will do,” Benvolio nodded, uncrossing his arms.

“Great.” Captain Laurence nodded in return before he ducked back into his office.

“Let’s go.” Rosaline leaped from her seat, sending a withering glare in Benvolio’s direction.

“Come on, Capulet. Don’t be like that.” Benvolio followed her Rosaline snatched his jacket from his chair, lobbing it at his chest.

“After you, Capulet.” Benvolio gestured to the exit with a flourish as he put the jacket on.

Rosaline rolled her eyes as they left.

* * *

 Rosaline’s sensible heels clicked on the marble floor of the Verona Art Museum foyer. A few scattered trees framed a fountain, bubbling and brimming with dancing water, in the center of the room. Sunlight streamed in through the skylight of the vast rotunda over the basin.

“I think it’s a bit much, honestly,” Benvolio remarked.

Rosaline laughed. "I'm going to get some directions."

She strolled over to the mahogany welcome desk on the side of the room, flashing her badge at the museum employee. "I'm Detective Capulet, and this is Detective Montague," she pointed to Benvolio where he stood examining the craftsmanship on the fountain, “with the Verona PD; Dr. Duke-Hobbes should be expecting us.”

“Yes,’ the docent smiled. He grabbed a map of the museum’s galleries from the display at the front of the desk. “Dr. Duke-Hobbes will meet you in the Seventeenth Century Armaments gallery.” He circled one of the galleries in red pen. "Just follow the main hallway to the middle; walk through the Antique Weapons gallery, and you should be there."

“Thanks,” Rosaline nodded, taking the map with her as she rejoined her partner. The fountain gurgled and bubbled.

“Come on; the curator’s meeting us in one of the galleries.” She followed the map out of the foyer. Benvolio caught up with her.

“Are you excited for our date tomorrow?” Benvolio whispered in her ear, matching her pace as they passed under the arch into the main corridor.

“It’s not a date,” she corrected him, turning the map right side up. “We’re just getting to know each other so we can pull off this wedding fiasco.”

“Same difference,” Benvolio scoffed, his gaze drifting to a gallery of paintings. He shook whatever thought had passed through his head away and dragged her by the elbow through the door on the other side of the hallway. "This way." They passed through the first gallery, stopping in the second room.

“I think it’s this one.” Benvolio pointed to the room on the map.

Finely crafted swords and pistols lined the bright turquoise walls, protected from prying fingers by recessed glass display cases and artfully arranged in chronological clusters. A tiny number next to each item indicated the catalog entry on the museum’s information boards. Rosaline approached the first case, tucking the museum map into her pocket.

“I never knew Verona was so well known for its metallurgy,” she remarked, leaning in to get a closer look.

“There was a lot of dueling back in the day,” Benvolio commented dryly, walking across the gallery to inspect a pair of dueling pistols in a velvet case. “Can’t have the aristocracy committing sanctioned murder with unsightly weapons.”

Rosaline chuckled. “Of course, aesthetics are the priority.”

“Queen Tamora owned this sword. It must have seen a lot of action.” Benvolio snorted.

Rosaline strolled to the next case. Perusing the collection of swords, she started at the sight of a familiar filigree.

“Benvolio, come here.”

He darted to her side at once.

“Look at number twenty-six.” Rosaline pointed to the rapier in question. “That handle pattern looks similar to the bruising on our victim.”

"You've got a good eye," a woman's voice said behind them. Rosaline and Benvolio turned around. A woman in a charcoal pantsuit strode into the gallery, with her honey auburn hair in a severe bun and her hands in her pockets. “You must be the detectives from the Verona PD.”

“That would be us,” Benvolio stuck out his hand, “which must make you Dr. Beatrice Duke-Hobbes, the curator.”

“Correct,” she shook his hand. “Call me Beatrice. Dr. Duke-Hobbes is such a mouthful.”

“Detective Montague,” he introduced himself, “and this is my partner, Detective Capulet.”

Rosaline shook the curator’s hand. “I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.” She stepped back, taking a spot next to the case. “What can you tell us about our potential murder weapon?”

“Not much, I’m afraid.” Beatrice clasped her hands together. “Based on the photographs the station sent over, you're on the right track. I'd say your murder weapon was made by the same artisan as rapier number twenty-six over there, a man by the name of Angelo who worked primarily between 1610 and 1623 when he died of tuberculosis." Using a laser pointer, she indicated the delicate filigree work on the hilt. "This particular sword was made in 1613, but I think the pattern of bruising indicates something slightly more elaborate, something from the middle of his career when he had honed his craft, but not before the illness made his work more difficult. You can see the plans for a similar sword in his journal over here.” She directed them toward a case on the opposite wall, holding an old leatherbound notebook opened to a page with a hilt sketched with a charcoal pencil.

“Can I take a picture of this?” Benvolio asked, pulling out his phone.

“Snap away,” Beatrice said. “If you wait here I can get you a list of the most prominent weapons collectors in the city. I don’t know how much help it would be, but perhaps they could help steer you in the right direction?”

“Thanks, that would be fantastic.” Rosaline agreed. Beatrice disappeared back where she came from. Rosaline leaned in to get a better look at the faded pages of the journal, studying the sketch of the hilt. The pattern matched almost perfectly.

“What do you make of this?” Benvolio slipped his phone back into his pocket. He put his hands on his hips.

"It's not a lot, but it's a little bit more than yesterday." She crossed her arms, studying the lines of the sketch. "Maybe the curator's list can help us narrow our currently nonexistent suspect pool." She snorted.

“Great minds think alike.” He stepped in closer. Rosaline’s frantic heart beat against the walls of her ribcage. “I was thinking the same thing.” He put his hand and his pockets and shrugged. “Anyway, about our date tomorrow . . .”

“It’s not a date,” Rosaline interrupted him for the second time that day.

“Right, it’s 'coworker bonding exercise so that we can fool your loved ones into thinking we’re in love to get back at your terrible ex-boyfriend’—”

Rosaline huffed.

“Anyway, wear something nice, but also appropriate for the weather.”

“Why?” She turned to face him, taking a step back when she realized how close they were. “Where are we going?”

"The botanical gardens," he whispered in her ear.

“Really?” Rosaline smiled, finding him entirely too close for her liking when she turned around. “I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“I know,” he smiled softly.

Dr. Duke-Hobbes cleared her throat behind them. Rosaline jumped back, feeling like a school girl caught with her crush, which was utterly ridiculous because Benvolio Montague was the most infuriating man on Earth.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

“Nope,” Rosaline spluttered.

Dr. Duke-Hobbes eyed them suspiciously. “Alright, here’s the list.” She handed Rosaline a crisp manila folder. “I’ll walk you guys out.” She gestured to the main hallway. Rosaline followed Benvolio into the cavernous corridor, with Dr. Duke-Hobbes right behind them. They walked in silence.

“Pardon me for asking,” Dr. Duke-Hobbes posed, her arms clasped behind her back as she walked, “but are you two together?”

“No!” Rosaline denied at the same time that Benvolio answered in opposition.

“Which is it?” Dr. Duke-Hobbes crossed her arms, passing them.

When Benvolio put an arm around her shoulder, Rosaline tried not to flinch. “What Rosaline means to say is that we are together, but we haven’t told anyone yet. It’s kind of a new thing.”

“Yep,” Rosaline agreed through gritted teeth as she patted Benvolio’s hand. “What gave us away?”

"Nothing, really. You two just remind me of my husband and me."

“Really?” Benvolio asked. “Interesting.” He winked at Rosaline.

Rosaline swatted him away and started walking into the foyer. “We should get going.”

“Right. It was nice to meet you!” Benvolio nodded at Dr. Duke-Hobbes as he walked backward, his hands in his pockets as he followed Rosaline. Dr. Duke-Hobbes waved good-bye.

“Likewise,” Dr. Duke-Hobbes responded. “Hopefully the next time I’ll have better news.”

Benvolio jogged to catch up to Rosaline.

"I like her," Benvolio said as they passed through the museum's large brass revolving door into the bright sun of early spring.

Rosaline rolled her eyes.

“Anyway, about the date—”

Rosaline snorted. “Not a date.”

“—would you want to start in the Rose or English garden?”

* * *

 The next day, the fragrance of roses wafted through the air. Rosaline perched on the edge of the sole white wrought iron bench in the botanical garden, her feet tapping against the wood floor of the gazebo. The gazebo protected her from the early spring sun. She smoothed the skirt of her blue sundress and adjusted the matching cardigan as she shifted in her seat. Drumming her fingers against the armrest, she glanced at the watch ticking away on her wrist. Ten minutes to showtime. A couple, locked arm in arm, wandered around the other side of the rose garden, pointing at various flowers.

Rosaline whipped out her phone, dialing her sister’s number from her favorites before she could stop herself. The phone rang for a few seconds; Rosaline bounced her knee. The line clicked on, hanging in suspended silence until Livia answered in a groggy voice.

“Ros, what’s up?” Livia yawned. The sounds of rustling sheets came through the phone’s speaker.

Rosaline bit her lip.

“I need you to tell me that I’m not about to make a huge mistake.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down. What are you doing?”

Rosaline leaped from the bench. She paced the circumference of the gazebo, walking around in circles.

“I’m about to go on a practice date with the fake boyfriend that I invented for Isabella’s wedding.”

The line went so silent that for a moment Rosaline thought her terrible network had dropped the call.

Livia cackled, loud and long.

“That’s why you called me so early on a Saturday?”

"Yes," Rosaline hissed into the receiver, crossing one arm over her chest. "This is very serious."

“I’m sure. Who’s the lucky guy tasked with the arduous task of fake boyfriendhood?”

“Montague,” Rosaline mumbled into the receiver.

“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”

Rosaline pictured Livia’s smirk.

“Benvolio Montague!” Rosaline shouted. “Are you happy now?” Her outburst attracted scrutiny from the few couples wandering the garden.

“Wait—you’re bringing the Montague to the wedding . . . As your fake boyfriend?” Livia laughed. “Why not just ask him to go for real?”

“Are you insane?” She whispered, ducking into the back corner of the gazebo to avoid the curious stares of the other garden patrons. “Why would I do that?”

“Why not?” Livia asked with conviction. “You have to admit he’s grown on you, and the sexual tension between you is so thick I could cut it with a knife. You’re literally perfect for each other.”

“That’s preposterous." Rosaline flicked a speck of desk off the bench. "Benvolio is merely doing his colleague a favor in exchange for copious amounts of coffee; he doesn’t even like me like that.”

Livia paused.

“But you admit that you do like him like that.”

“Ugh!” Rosaline groaned, flopping back onto the bench. “That’s not what I said.”

“Well, I think you should give him a chance; I’ve got to go—my boyfriend’s here.” Livia’s sheets rustled. “I’m so excited for you to meet him at the wedding. Bye!”

“Bye,” Rosaline barely squeaked out before Livia hung up and the line clicked off.

She stared at the blank lock screen.

“I’m not into him,” Rosaline huffed, tossing her phone back inside her purse. “How could she ever think that?” She rubbed her temples.

“Capulet, are you alright?” came Benvolio’s concerned voice from behind her shoulder.

Rosaline sprang up from the bench. Benvolio leaned against the gazebo entryway behind her. The fabric of his maroon button-up straining against his muscles. Rosaline gulped. He was wearing the jeans that made his ass look nice. “Oh, you’re here. It’s nothing,” she deflected. “Just my sister being ridiculous as usual.”

“Ah,” he answered. “Here.” He pulled a single red rose from behind his back, grinning sheepishly.

Rosaline plucked the rose from his outstretched hand. Furrowing her brow, she twirled the plastic stem in her hands.

“It’s fake,” she frowned.

“A fake rose for my fake girlfriend,” Benvolio winked, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Haha, very funny.” Rosaline rolled her eyes. “So what are we going to do on this 'date'."

“Glad you asked, Capulet.” He took her free hand. “We’re going to through a couple of gardens, concocting our relationship’s backstory while we get comfortable with acting like a couple.”

Rosaline gave a stilted laugh.

“You know, if you want people to believe that you’re my boyfriend, Benvolio, you’re going to have to start using my first name.”

“Alright, Rosaline.” The way he said her name so tenderly sent a shiver through her body. Benvolio gestured to the white gravel path meandering away from the pavilion toward the neat rows of manicured budding roses. “Shall we?”

They stepped onto the path together. The gravel crunched under Rosaline’s shoes.

“You look great, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Rosaline replied, tucking a curl behind her ear. “So I guess we should talk backstory, then?” She shaded her eyes from the sun with her hand. “Obviously, we met at work, but how did we get together?”

Benvolio scratched his chin.

“Let’s try to keep it as close to the truth as possible. We didn’t get along when we first met.” Rosaline leaned into to smell the golden orange roses on the sides of the trellis, labeled _Soleil d’Or._

"That's the understatement of the century,” Rosaline snorted. In his first week, she had lobbed a stapler at his head.

Benvolio shot her a withering glare as they resumed their stroll. "As I said, we didn't get along, but eventually that dislike turned to begrudging respect, which in turn became good-natured ribbing. And then, I don't know, we kissed on a stakeout?"

“That could work. The Don John stakeout is recent enough to be believable.” Rosaline crouched to get a better look at a row of pink tea-roses.

Benvolio pulled her away after a moment, guiding them toward a sand path through an arch in the hedge that rounded the rose garden. "Come along—the Japanese garden is through here. It’s my favorite.“ They passed under the archway into a sprawling natural terrace. Crowded trees shaded the pathway in dappled sunlight, leading to a waterfall cascading down a rocky hill. A stream gushed down the hill at the foot of the waterfall.

“And then I asked you out,” Benvolio continued, crossing the stream by stepping stones. “We spent our first date in the gardens, which is a half-truth, so it’ll be easier for us to remember.” He stopped in the middle, making sure Rosaline kept her balance. “I think that’s enough for a basic backstory; we can embellish it if need be at the wedding, but we have to keep our story straight.”

“Is pretending to be a couple really that simple?” Rosaline wondered aloud. The hushed grove, a tranquil oasis, calmed her. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of the Japanese cedar trees.

"I don't think so," Benvolio answered, retaking her hand as she opened her eyes. "We don’t have any pictures together.” He changed the subject. “I heard they have a magnificent fountain in the hedge maze.”

Their entwined hands sparked a peculiar feeling in Rosaline’s breast as Benvolio lead them through the garden, following the signs until they arrived at the wooden gate to the hedge maze.

“I feel like I’m in Harry Potter,” Rosaline remarked while she pushed the gate open.

“Didn’t that task have a terrible ending?” Benvolio joined her at the first crossroads.

“Good point.” Rosaline glanced down the path in both directions. “Maybe it’s not the best thing to be thinking of right now. Which direction do you think we should take?”

“Right.”

“Really? I was thinking left.” Rosaline raised a brow.

"How about this?" Benvolio proposed. “Let’s make it a competition.” Rosaline rolled her eyes. “The first one to the center picks lunch?"

“You’re on.” She shook his hand. “I hope you know what you’re getting into—I happen to be a champion maze solver.”

“We’ll see.” Benvolio winked as he passed, dashing down the right path.

"No fair," Rosaline laughed, starting down her own path. The hedges guided her, meandering left and right until they came to another crossing. Rosaline paused, taking stock of both of her options before making a calculated decision. She continued in this manner, weighing all of her choices at each crossroads.

Benvolio cursed from the other side of the maze when he ran into another dead end.

Giggling at his colorful expletives, Rosaline rounded the final turn, arriving at the heart of the labyrinth. A three-tier white marble fountain rose out of a small reflecting pool. Two sculpted cupids frolicked in the bubbling water. Smiling, Rosaline took in quiet.

Cursing, Benvolio barrelled into the clearing, interrupting the tranquility.

“How did you get here first?” He asked, panting as he jogged up to her.

“I told you—I’m a superior maze solver,” Rosaline answered sheepishly.

“Alright, Miss Champion maze solver, let’s get some photographic evidence for this fake relationship.”

He planted her in front of the fountain, adjusting her back and forth until she was in precisely the right position. The water in the basin sparkled, reflecting off the hundreds of coins littering the blue tile floor.

“Is this all really necessary?” Rosaline asked, shading her eyes from the early spring sun.

“Absolutely,” Benvolio answered. “No fake girlfriend of mine is going to take bad pictures.” Without warning, he draped an arm around her shoulder. "Say cheese!"

“Cheese,” Rosaline spoke through gritted teeth, desperately trying to look like she didn’t want to throttle him. The shutter clicked a few times before Benvolio spoke again.

“Kiss my cheek.”

“What?” Rosaline smiled, though her eyes said otherwise.

“I said, kiss my cheek.”

Rosaline frowned.

"Don't make that face; I'm not that terrible. If you want this to work, you'll have to do a lot more than kiss my cheek."

"Fine." Rosaline rolled her eyes and turned her head. She leaned in close, breathing in cedarwood and oil paint. Rosaline closed her eyes before she gently skimmed her lips against his cheek. His beard tickled her lips, sending them curling upward into a smile. The shutter clicked again.

“There, all done.” Benvolio cleared his throat. Rosaline leaped back a foot and suddenly found the pattern of gravel at her feet intriguing. “Can I kiss you?”

Rosaline’s brain nearly short-circuited. Her gaze drifted to his plush lips.

“Just in case we have to do it at the wedding?”

Rosaline cleared her head. “Right, the wedding. Yeah, go ahead. Plant one on me.”

Benvolio closed the gap between them. He placed one hand around her waist, reaching the other up to move a stray curl behind her ear. As he rested his hand at the nape of her neck, Rosaline’s pulse quickened. He closed the distance between them, brushing his lips against hers. Rosaline leaned into the kiss, but as quick as he kissed her, he pulled away. Benvolio stared into her wide eyes a few seconds before stepping back. Rosaline didn’t have time to figure out what her racing heartbeat meant before Benvolio spoke.

"Well, that's done," he coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I think people will believe us. Anything else I should know before we walk into the lion's den in two weeks?"

“Funny you should ask, but I made something for you to study.” Rosaline hauled a gigantic blue binder out of her tote, depositing it into his arms. Benvolio quirked a brow up as he flipped through the first few pages.

“Is this color-coded?”

“I’ve divided the information into various sections based on what I think my boyfriend would know.”

“Of course you did.” He snapped the binder shut, tucking it under his arm.

“Is there anything you think I, your dutiful fake girlfriend, should know?”

“Like what?” Benvolio frowned. He tossed a quarter into the fountain. It landed with a loud plop, sending ripples through the crystal clear water.

“I don’t know; something personal. What would you be doing if you weren’t a detective?”

Benvolio stared at the fountain.

“I’d be an artist,” he said after a long while, gazing out over the water. “I like to create beautiful things.”

"Why aren't you then?” Rosaline asked. “An artist, I mean?”

“My uncle.”

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, the only sound the gurgling of the fountain. Benvolio rolled another quarter around in his hand.

“I hope you still have time to do what you love, even with how busy we are.”

Benvolio turned to her. “What about you? Did you ever have a dream?”

“I’ve wanted to be a detective ever since my parents were murdered, but I guess before that I wanted to be a writer." She shrugged. “Life’s got a funny way of working out.”

“This fake first date got unexpectedly heavy,” Benvolio laughed after the moment had passed, and handed her the quarter. “Make a wish?”

She took the quarter, holding it to her lips.

“I wish this will work,” she whispered to the coin before tossing it into the fountain. It landed with a tiny splash, ripples spreading out over the water.

“I’m famished,” Benvolio changed the subject. “Lunch?”

“I could do for some food.” Rosaline slipped his hand into his as they walked toward the exit, ignoring how comfortable that simple action felt. “But I’m not paying for you. I’m already buying you a month’s worth of caffeine monstrosities.”

“That’s understandable.” Benvolio chuckled. “Where to, maze solving champion?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave me a comment if you've got the time. I always enjoy hearing from my readers. :)

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys thinks--I love getting comments from my readers. :)


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